


BIKM Bingo Round 2- Boink the Bard

by lunacosas, TheSleepiestDreamer, WolfQueen91



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exhibitionism, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Rough Sex, Singer!Jaskier, Tags do not apply to each chapter, baker!Eskel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29761542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacosas/pseuds/lunacosas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepiestDreamer/pseuds/TheSleepiestDreamer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfQueen91/pseuds/WolfQueen91
Summary: A collection of fics inspired by round 2 of the BIKM Bingo challenge. Each chapter is a different story and not all the tags will apply to it.1: (23-Sock) Lambert hates the winter. No archive warnings apply, mature, angst and hurt/comfort2: (8-Mist) (Geralt & Jaskier) - sfw, canonverse3: (16. Stone) (Geralt/Jaskier) - sfw, canonverse4: (43-Offer) (Eskel/Jaskier) - NSFW, alt canonverse5: (48-Quarter) (Eskel/Jaskier) - sfw, pirate AU6: (75-Pet) (Eskel/Jaskier) - NSFW, modern AU, pet play7: (70-Window) (Jaskier/Lambert) - NSFW, modern au8: (56-Market)(Geralt/Jaskier) - NSFW, non-con9: (30- Rice) pre-relationship, Jaskier/Geralt, Lambert, Eskel, sfw, canon verse10: (28-Breath) (Geralt/Eskel) - NSFW, modern au11: (4- account)  HPverse, Lambert, PTSD, sfw, gen, deaging, Horcruxes12: (27-Pie) (Eskel/Jaskier) sfw, modern AU, baker!Eskel, singer!Jaskier, first kiss13: (46-Partner) (Lambert/Jaskier) - NSFW, pirate au
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49
Collections: Boink the Bard! (Team 5 BIKM Bingo '21)





	1. Sock

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Welcome to another round of BIKM Bingo! I hope you enjoy the pieces we've created.
> 
> A special thank you to the wonderful Locktea for beta reading and vastly improving this story 💕  
> And an extra-special thank you to crateofkate for putting together this challenge 💖
> 
> Happy reading!  
> -Sleepy

After a long year out on the Path, there are many things about Kaer Morhen for a tired witcher to appreciate:

The remote location of the keep. Out of the way of humans and their many sounds and smells and inherent hatred of that which they do not understand.

A room with a bed to sleep in every night. One that doesn’t reek of a thousand previous occupants, though it used to carry the smell of brothers long lost. 

The easy routine of the day. Wake up, train, fix whatever broke during the night, hunt or cook or clean as Vesemir sees fit, bathe, eat and drink and play Gwent. Repeat. 

But the worst thing, other than the ghosts of those who succumbed to the Grasses or failed the trials or were lost to the Path or the pogrom, has to be how godsdamn fucking _cold_ the keep is. Deep into the Blue Mountains, above a high valley Kaer Morhen is cold even during the summer. In the winter, the cold chills to the bone and lingers even in front of blazing fires or in hot baths, it’s clutch only loosened by the oncoming spring. 

Lambert hates it. Hates it with a passion. Has hated it ever since he was brought to the damnable keep and made to be a witcher. Not even the mutagens burning away his humanity were enough to prevent the icy grip from sinking into his core. 

The others don’t seem to be as bothered by the gelid winters as he is- Vesemir has long since adapted, the bastard, Eskel is roughly the size of a bear and seems to put on an insulating layer of fat as soon as he walks through the gates, and the oh-so-special Geralt has his extra dose of mutations that practically turned him into a furnace along with all the other enhancements. Lambert is still young, relatively, hasn’t yet built the tolerance Vesemir has to the cold, he’s not massive the way Eskel is, his body more lithe and unwilling to turn any extra food consumed into anything but explosive energy, and he certainly didn’t get mutated twice like Geralt. So he freezes every winter, forced to suffer during what is supposed to be his season of rest. Every year he considers not returning, finding some hidey-hole down in the south where it stays warm year round and where his bones wouldn’t feel brittle from the frost.

But. 

Despite all the agonizing memories and never meeting Vesemir’s fucking standards, never being able to compete with Eskel’s Signs and never even having a hope of matching up to Geralt in any way, Kaer Morhen is the only home he has. So he comes back. 

There’s no reason to think that this winter won’t be the same bittersweet respite from walking the Path, and for the first handful of weeks it isn’t. Then a storm blows in the likes of which haven’t been seen in nearly a century according to the old man, more snow and ice is dumped on the keep than Lambert has ever seen. And, impossibly, it gets even fucking _colder_.

He has to wear nearly all his clothes at once to keep his limbs from freezing into stiff, useless hunks. At night he keeps his boots on when he crawls into bed, having shoved the mattress as close to the hearth as possible and ravaged the keep for any spare furs, blankets, and even curtains just to trap in as much heat as possible. He casts Igni more in two days than he does in months on the Path, using the bursts of flame to bring feeling back into his numb fingers. It helps a bit, but as soon as the fire disappears the cold comes rushing back in almost painfully. 

If he wasn’t a miserable bastard to be around before, he is now. The cold has eaten away the last of any patience or politeness he once held, and Lambert can’t keep himself from snapping at the other witchers, especially when it seems that even now they are unbothered by the chill. He can feel their patience with him withering away with each barbed reply and begrudgingly accomplished task, but he has no energy for niceties when all he can think about is the ice in his bones. 

It comes to a head at breakfast one morning. Lambert hadn’t been able to pull himself from the relative warmth of his cocoon of textiles for a while, and by the time he stumbles into the main hall there is very little food left for him. And all of the bacon is gone. He piles what little remains onto his plate with harsh motions, grumbling to himself as he does. He goes to lift the tankard he’s filled with warmed cider, but it slips through his numb fingers onto the table, spilling over the edge onto his lap. The liquid seems to freeze his skin everywhere it touches and with it his last nerve frays. He heaves the tankard at the far wall, watches as it shatters against the stone and the cider turns to ice as it drips toward the floor. 

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Eskel asks, turning away from the mess to look at Lambert.

“ _Nothing_.” He grits out from between clenched teeth, hands gripping his hair as he feels himself slipping over the edge into rage.

“Then why are you acting like someone pissed in your ale?”

“ _Because I’m fucking cold!_ ” He spits, the words hurling from his mouth as his frustration finally boils over, “It’s always so godsdamned cold in this accursed keep and I haven’t been able to feel my fucking toes in _days_ no matter what I do!”

It’s silent for a long moment. Lambert can feel the others staring at him, judging his weakness. He flees from the table, unwilling to hear whatever lecture Vesemir was no doubt concocting about his newest failing. 

  
  


He spends the rest of the day in the basement working on potions and some new ideas for bombs as best he can with his fumbling fingers. The anger ebbs away slowly, leaving shame in its place, but he can’t hide in the labs forever, especially not with the pitiful amount of heat they manage to hold and the hunger growling in his gut. 

When he slinks into the main hall he finds that the fire has been built higher, that there are furs laid out on the ground, and old tapestries hung over the largest windows. The table has been pushed closer to the mantle and is piled high with hearty foods and there is a steaming pot of mulled wine in the center. 

Movement in his peripheral grabs Lambert’s attention and he reaches instinctively to grab the projectile that has been sent his way. It’s unexpectedly soft. He uncrumples it to find a sock made of heavy wool, the knitted stitches neat and even, woven together expertly. Lambert looks up from the sock to Vesemir, who is perched in an armchair next to the fire with needles in hand and a basket of yarn at his feet.

“What’s this?” Vesemir glances up at him, lifting an unimpressed brow before turning back to his work.

“A sock. Surely you’ve seen one before.” 

Lambert lets out a huff, rolling his eyes before replying, “I _know_ what a fucking sock is. Why did you throw it at me? Is this some sort of new training?”

“Good. And no. If you wait just a moment more you’ll have it’s match.” With that he ties off what is apparently the other sock he’s been knitting before throwing this one over to Lambert as well. 

“Are you going to come in or are you planning on spending the rest of the evening blocking the door?”

Lambert’s feet lead him forward without any input from his brain, which is desperately trying to figure out why Vesemir is _knitting_ _socks_ and the fact that _he_ seems to be their intended recipient. He comes to rest on a chair opposite Vesemir, and his confusion must be plain to see on his face because Vesemir takes pity on him.

“It has been a long time since I was bothered by winter’s bite, but I remember the years early on when it felt as though I would never be warm again. I taught myself how to do this,” he pauses, gesturing at the needles and yarn, “to make the cold seasons more bearable. Got good enough at it that my brothers would pay me to make them something.” There’s a small smile on the elder witcher’s face, but it is tinged with sorrow and is gone as soon as it appeared. 

“Why?” Lambert asks again, not sure if he means the socks, the story, the changes to the all, or all of it.

“Because there is no need for you to suffer. Especially not in your home.” 

Lambert stares at Vesemir in stunned silence, watching as he begins to knit yet another sock before folding the pair he has together and tucking them away into a pocket. 

  
  


That night, after eating until he was fit to burst and drinking until he was red-cheeked and laughing along with his brothers, Lambert carefully slips on his new socks and feels the cold in his bones start to melt away.


	2. Prompt 30- rice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier brings the Witchers to his home in Lettenhove. They leave with a gift for each of them.

The Witchers stared at the ornate house dubiously. Jaskier had asked them to come to his home in Lettenhove before they went their separate ways on the Path.

The bard smiled as he walked up to the house, "Come on, come on, we're expected."

Eskel went forward first, eyes darting around as he walked in behind Jaskier, eyebrows raising when an attendant bowed and welcomed him into the Pankratz' home.

Lambert and Geralt walked in behind him, both wary and surprised when they weren't greeted by fear. Instead, they were led inside and to a sitting room to wait for Jaskier to return to them.

The bard had disappeared further into the manor while a woman with Jaskier's bright blue eyes greeted them.

"You must be the Wolf Witchers our Julian is so entranced with." The woman smiled, "I am Lydia Pankratz, Julian's mother."

Geralt tilted his head, "...Jaskier has mentioned you…. His father though….?"

"Alfred fell ill just before Julian went to Oxenfurt. Fear not, I am quite alright with him travelling with you." Lydia looked to the doorway, smiling, "ah, Julian. I see you found the gift that Lady Marcine left you."

Jaskier had come into the room, carrying a small patchwork rabbit, eyes red, "She passed away, didn't she?"

"She did. She wanted you to have that. She remade that little rabbit, added rice to it for some reason-"

"It can be warmed by a fire…" Jaskier whispered, "it...has lavender and chamomile inside it as well  
.. the rice helps the scent grow stronger."

Lydia nodded, "...ah...it is a comfort item."

The Witchers watched quietly, curious as Jaskier sighed, "Well… she left more than just this one."   
He handed over the rabbit, reaching to dig into his bag to pull out four patchwork wolves, "...It...seems she remembered my stories about you all...made these for you all… even one for Vesemir."

Lambert picked up the red patched wolf, eyes widening, "....It smells like sandalwood."

Eskel tilted his head, picking up the darker wolf, "....huh… rice packed, and…" he sniffed, "Citrus? Almost like that soap you made, Jask."

Jaskier smiled, "I... might have mentioned the scents you guys liked…"

Geralt picked up his own wolf, eyes soft, "Chamomile and lilac?"

Jaskier nodded, "I...might have had a raven and lion made for Yen and Ciri as well… Lady Marcine was a wonderful seamstress who loved making these little toys… they're wonderful for sleep."

The Witchers shared a look before each carefully tucked the rice-filled wolves into their bags.

They'd keep the little toys safe..and if they happened to use them at night once they were on the Path alone again… well, only Jaskier would notice, or care.

Jaskier found, once they had gone their separate ways, that his Witchers had decided to keep the wolves close. When he met up with Eskel on his way to meet up with Geralt after a bardic competition, he discovered that the wolf smelled of smoke and jasmine instead of citrus.

Eskel kept the wolf close, sleeping with the small toy tucked into his arm.

Jaskier took note of how each Witcher behaved with the little wolves.

Lambert's still had the sandalwood scent, a little charred and beat up. He kept the plush in his arms when he slept, like Eskel.

Geralt, however, had taken to setting his wolf into Jaskier's bag and taking the little rabbit the bard had.

He would periodically take it so that it's scent was refreshed. Jaskier learned that Geralt preferred the bard's natural scent.

Which is how Jaskier found that Geralt liked hugging him rather than the rice stuffed toys.


	3. 4- account

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Child Surprise, Harry Potter verse.
> 
> Year two, Lambert's ending the year with some serious problems.

Lambert hugged his knees, staring at the sheet curled around his feet, shivering as he waited for someone to escort him from the infirmary to the headmaster's office. He would be expelled. He was sure of it...even though he hadn't been himself in months.

The memory of the Diary's slimy grip on his mind made him gag and he scrambled to grab the bucket Pomfrey had left for him and vomited into it.

He had let the soul fragment buried inside that diary into his mind and had tried to kill his friends. His brother. He had set a monster loose on the school and- He shuddered and covered his mouth, giving a quiet sob.

Madam Pomfrey peered in briefly before gently tugging the curtains around his bed, offering him some privacy from the students that passed by trying to peek in on him.

Lambert curled up, hands moving into his hair and gripping the dark locks roughly. He fucked up. He fucked up bad. How the hell could he ever call himself a Witcher-?

"....Lamb…?" Harry's quiet voice snapped him out of his wallowing, making him look up at the other boy.

"....Hey," he whispered, "....I...I'm sorry." Tears began forming, "I fucked up- I didn't- I let him-"

"I don't blame you. No one does." Harry shook his head, "...mom and dad will be here soon. Dumbledore has them in his office, they might be ripping him a new one. Apparently they're quite angry about how the wards didn't detect something with some seriously brutal black magic."

Lambert snorted, "My medallion didn't even react to it. How long til I have to give my account of what happened? Fuck- I don't even remember what happened in the last month…"

"However long it takes for Mom to stop threatening Dumbledore… I should have noticed something was wrong," Harry sighed, "I'm sorry- for not seeing-"

"No! Fuck- Harry, it's not your fault- I'm the one who kept writing in that damn book after it started writing back. I should have known better-"

"Yes, you should have." A familiar, male voice drew their attention.

"...Vesemir…" Lambert whispered, turning to him, keeping his eyes down.

The man walked to them, gently tilting Lambert's head up to look into his eyes, "But that is something we can work on during the summer. For now, I am simply relieved that you're not dead. When we got that message from McGonagall about you being taken…."

Lambert sniffed, "....I'm sorry- vesemir-!"

"Shh, pup." The older witcher pulled Lambert into a hug, "How about you tell me what you remember?"

Lambert sniffed again, pulling back and beginning his account of what he knew, "I just- I found the book in my cauldron, dunno where it came from, honestly. I just assumed it was something Triss or Nenna had put into my stuff to help with anger management or something. Started writing in it cause Snape pissed me off...and it just….started writing back. Didn't think anything of it, cause y'know, magic. I just kept... bitching to it. And it started… pouring itself back."

Vesemir sat down, listening intently, "It was sentient?"

"Yeah. It...it began giving me orders. Write threatening messages, how to release the basilisk, who to set it on… told me to kill Hagrid's roosters." Lambert shuddered, "I...I started losing time, realized what the fucking thing was doing and tried to get rid of it."

".... that's why it showed up in the girl's bathroom." Harry gasped, "You-"

"Chucked it in there, hoping I'd not see it again. 'course you found it..I panicked and waited til you and the others had gone down for practice and went to find it…. I'm sorry, by the way, for destroying your stuff. I was desperate to keep that thing from you," Lambert rubbed his face, "Then it took control and went after Hermione… Colin. Fuck… I don't remember what happened after Dumbledore got kicked out of the school. It all went black right after I went to the Chamber entrance."

Harry grimaced, "Note on the wall, said your skeleton would lie in the chamber forever. Ron and I were going to tell Lockhart what we knew and...well, he proved to be just as useless as we knew him to be."

Vesemir sighed, patting Lambert's leg, "At ease, cub. I will tell Dumbledore and that Minister of Magic everything you told me. We'll find out who gave you that diary and make them pay."

Lambert sniffed, wiping his face, "Right- right- thanks-"

Harry waited until Vesemir had left before turning to his brother, "....you ok?"

"...I will be. Eventually." Lambert whispered, closing his eyes and laying back, "Lemme sleep. If I can."

Harry nodded, standing up, worry showing as he left Lambert to his thoughts.

Lambert shivered as a phantom laugh echoed in his mind once he was alone.


	4. Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt 27-Pie  
> sfw, modern AU, baker!Eskel, singer!Jaskier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again friends! I hope you have been enjoying the work of my bingo team members. This here is a little fluffy piece about baker!Eskel and singer!Jaskier. Thank you again to Locktea for beta-reading 💕
> 
> Happy reading!  
> -Sleepy

Eskel has done this more times than he can remember. The movements are automatic, his mind free to wander as his hands work. It’s relaxing, the familiar motions helping to work out any tension in his body and release any stress he’s holding on to. 

Or, at least that’s normally how he feels. This time is very, very different. 

“This doesn’t look right…” 

It has been a long time since Eskel was covered head to toe with flour, even longer since his apron proved ineffective at keeping him clean of any spills or sprays. Not since he was a boy, trying to mimic the chef on the TV and making a disaster of Vesemir’s kitchen in the process. 

It has also been a long time since he laughed this much, since he smiled so much that his cheeks hurt in the best kind of way. 

“No, you’ve added too much water. Plus, half the flour is on us and not in the bowl.” Eskel says, peering over Jaskier’s shoulder to see what went wrong.

“So I should add in more flour?” Jaskier has a stripe of flour across his cheek and the sun shining out of his eyes and Eskel wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

“Just a little, and try not to overwork the dough.” Jaskier nods before turning back to his sticky dough, brows furrowing in concentration and the tip of his tongue poking out from between his lips as he tries to save the crust of the pie Eskel is teaching him to make. 

Jaskier had burst into Eskel’s life in a brilliant whirlwind of color and music when he decided to host a weekly open-mic night at his cafe, and had stolen his heart with his charming grin and quick wit immediately. 

They had become fast friends, it was hard not to when Jaskier would show up early to help Eskel set up and stay late to pack everything away, telling humorous tales and making terrible puns the whole time. Now they’re here, in the cafe kitchen after hours with Eskel trying to teach Jaskier how to bake the singer’s favorite pie and failing to not fall even more for this ridiculous man. 

“Well, it’s less of a sticky mess now. What’s next?”

“Now we let it chill in the refrigerator while we make the filing.” Eskel replies, ripping off a piece of plastic wrap to cover the lumpy ball of dough, before placing it next to several other significantly less lumpy balls of dough in the fridge. He stops in the pantry to grab the cherries and other ingredients they’ll need before returning back to the counter where Jaskier is making a vain attempt to clear the space of excess flour. His eyes light up when he sees the basket of cherries and makes grabby-hands for them when Eskel holds them out of reach.

“You can’t eat them all, we won’t be able to make the pie if you do.” He gets a pout in return that makes his own lips twitch despite the stern face he’s trying to put on. 

“Just a few Eskel, I promise! There will be plenty left for filling that monstrosity of a dough.” His eyes, if possible, turn even more pleading, and Eskel sighs, unable to deny Jaskier anything.

“One handful, and that’s it.” Immediately Jaskier snatches the cherries from Eskel’s hands, biting into the small fruit and making a noise that makes Eskel blush and look away. He distracts himself by pulling off the stems and removing the pits and pointedly not thinking about a different context where Jaskier would make similar sounds. 

“You know, they say if someone can tie a knot in a cherry stem with their tongue that they’re a good kisser.” Jaskier says, pulling Eskel from his thoughts.

“I have heard that before.” 

“I can tie three.” The cherry in Eskel’s hand is crushed with enough force that the pit goes shooting across to the other side of the kitchen. He stares at Jaskier, stares at the unmistakably flirtatious look on his face, and swallows hard.

“Y-Yeah?” He has to swallow again, it feels like his mouth has gone dry from the heat he can see in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Eskel thinks if Jaskier grabs a cherry instead of kissing him that he will combust on the spot from both embarrassment and disappointment. 

He doesn’t. 

Jaskier steps into Eskel’s space, hand coming up to cup his jaw and Eskel’s pretty sure he’s stopped breathing as Jaskier leans in and presses their lips together.

The first kiss is little more than a peck, a sweet thing that sends Eskel’s heart soaring and laughter bubble up in his chest.

The next kiss, that one Eskel believes would tie three knots into a cherry stem. Maybe even more. 

They pull apart eventually, only far enough to catch their breath and rest their foreheads together. Eskel’s hands have migrated to Jaskier’s hips and he’s pretty sure that there is flour smeared across both their faces and in their hair but he doesn’t care. 

This is very different indeed than when he bakes on his own, but curled up on a couch, a mess of ingredients across every surface in the kitchen, sharing a piece of cherry pie with lumpy crust and kisses with a man made of laughter and sunshine Eskel has never been happier.


	5. 10- Tank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel and his Companion have a new addition to their little family. Lil Bleater proves to be more impressive than they expected.

Eskel cursed as tiny hooves dug into his back, the little goat bleating happily as she hopped around as though he were a rock, "Fuck- Fenris, help me up you ass."

Fenris, the wolf shifter that Eskel had walked the Path with since he had left Kaer Morhen, yawned at him, curled into a furry black ball and pointedly ignored him.

They had been….disagreeing since Eskel had found the little goat. Fenris felt that they should have left her in the nearest village. Eskel, however, felt oddly protective over the feisty little beast.

Lil Bleater, as Eskel had started calling her, bounced off his back and darted over to Fenris and slammed her little body into his side.

The wolf barked in agitation and sat up,glaring at the goat. Eskel chuckled, sitting up and rubbing his shoulder, "Should have gotten up to help me, you ass. Come here, Bleaty. Leave Mr. grumpy alone."

The little goat bleated again and nudged at Fenris, her tail wagging happily.

Fenris growled and stood up, shaking his fur out before transforming into a man with hair dark as the wolf's fur. Golden eyes narrowed at the goat and the shifter stomped over to Scorpion, "We should have fucking left her behind. What if we come across a fucking forktail?"

"Well, i think she'll be perfectly safe." Eskel chuckled, "Between you and your tank of a shifted form, me, and Scorpion, she's got quite the group of guards. We'll take her home, Vesemir and Ryo can take care of her. Calm yourself."

Fenris growled again, crossing his arms, "Ryo and Vesemir don't need any goats. Neither do we. Max will probably eat her when he and Lambert get back."

Eskel shook his head, "Nah. They don't like goat meat… now… milk and cheese? They'll be all over it. Help me pack up, we'll get moving once the sun is up a bit more."

Fenris grunted and started to pull their camp down, snarling as Lil Bleater started chewing on his bed roll, "Get away from that you menace! Damnit, Eskel- control her!"

Eskel snorted, scooping the goat up and taking her to where Scorpion was tied down. He quickly tied the goat to the tree beside the stallion so that he and Fenris could finish.

Of course, things didn't go smoothly.

A series of howls, far closer than they should have sounded, caught their attention. Fenris snarled quietly, "Fuck. Wolves. Sounds like a warg is with them."

".... Come on. If we move quickly we'll catch them before they get here." Eskel grabbed his sword, starting into the trees.

Fenris followed, smoothly shifting into wolf form to follow his Witcher into the forest.

Unfortunately, it appeared they had underestimated what was coming towards them.

It was indeed wargs and wolves...but a large, clearly feral werewolf led the pack. Fenris immediately barrelled into the twisted being, jaws snapping and claws digging at it.

The werewolf howled in fury as they rolled and bit at each other. It got a lucky hit in, claws catching Fen's shoulder and slamming him into a tree.

Eskel, busy with the wolves and wargs, was unable to come to his side, starting to stumble from the pain radiating through the bond between them.

A scream rent the air suddenly as a little blur of white came running into the fight and the werewolf was roughly hit in the leg. It shrieked as a bone snapped and, before it could strike, it's attacker reared back for another hit.

Fenris gaped as Lil Bleater attacked the werewolf that had been about to kill him and, upon hearing her scream as the werewolf tried to grab her, rushed forward to bite the cursed beast's throat.

The death scream of the werewolf scattered the remaining wolves and Eskel hurried forward to finish it off.

"Fen?" Eskel whispered, "You good?"

"Yeah- the goat- she ok? The crazy little fucker saved me." Fenris grimaced as he shifted again, eyeing his slashed shoulder.

".... she's fine. Guess we should have named her Tank instead of Lil Bleater. Fierce little thing." Eskel chuckled.

"Yeah… and Eskel? Vesemir and Ryo can't have her."


	6. 14- crook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has to make a choice to save Geralt. He'd do anything for his idiot husband.

Jaskier crept slowly towards the glinting object, careful to avoid any motion detectors and lights. His ear crackled briefly with a hissed, "Hurry," making him grimace and hiss back, "Shh. Quiet."

The musician turned crook reached out to carefully pick up the gleaming gold orb and, just as carefully, placed a lead replica in its place. He fucked the orb into his bag and began the arduous journey back to his escape route. The voice hissed again, "Fifteen minutes. Cameras."

Jaskier frowned behind his face mask as he picked up the pace, dodging motion sensors and lights, climbing out the window he'd come in and scampering towards the dark car waiting for him.

He hurriedly got into the car and buckled in, "Go. Before the outside cameras come back online."

His accomplice, a man named Lambert who was both his friend and handler, grumbled as he started the car, "Yeah, yeah. Took you fucking long enough. Eskel was getting worried that you had gotten caught." 

"it's fine. Had to watch out, since he couldn't take out the motion sensors." Jaskier sighed, taking his mask off, "I got it, anyway. We're sure it'll break whatever curse is on Geralt?"

"Yennefer seemed to be sure. Supposed to be some kinda magical nullification device." Lambert shrugged, pulling away from the museum they'd just robbed, "Pretty boy is gonna be pissed that you had to become a damn crook to get that though."

"Well, kinda hard not to when we couldn't get the museum to let us borrow the stupid thing." Jaskier growled, "I'd rather Geralt be humanoid again, you know. Not a fucking statue."

Lambert nodded, "I know. Fuck, I know. With any luck, breaking the curse won't break that stupid bauble and we can put it back."

A giggle left Jaskier's mouth, "Break in and return it. Little thank you note."

Lambert laughed, pulling into a parking garage, "Yeah, leave a little typed out note. 'thank you, apologies for stealing this.'"

Jaskier snickered as he left the car and hurried inside, his smile fading as he spotted his husband turned sculpture. He often joked that Geralt was sculpted like an adonis statue...he didn't really mean for him to become one.

Yennefer turned to him, relief on her face, "You got it….! How the hell-?

"Did you truly doubt myself, Eskel, and Lambert? Here...please…Bring Geralt back." Jaskier handed the orb to the sorceress, worrying at his fingers as she turned back to the statue, raising her hands.

Violet colored magic began to rise into the air as Yennefer activated the orb's magic, guiding it to circle Geralt's frozen form.

A burst of light made Jaskier cover his face, "Bloody hell, Yen! I didn't take up a criminal action to be blinded!"

"....Jaskier?" 

Geralt's voice made his eyes open and jump forward in relief, hugging the white haired man, "Geralt, my love!"

"....Jaskier….what happened…? I don't…"

".....I'll explain later. For now- kiss me, you stubborn ass!" Jaskier laughed, kissing Geralt happily, hugging him tightly.


	7. 12- Route

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert decides he wants to travel with the Cats.

Lambert grumbled to himself as he walked down the road, hoisting his bag further up onto his shoulder. He was three weeks out from Kaer Morhen and had already lost the fucking horse he'd gotten. The stupid beast had panicked and bucked him off when a wyvern had flown overhead and, of course, had been snatched up by the fucking monster's mate.

So now he has to fucking walk everywhere. With any luck, he'd picked a route that the Cat Caravan would be using for the season and he'd be able to travel with them for a bit.

Two days passed before Lambert took notice of familiar signs around him.

Broken trees. Some burn spots on the ground. Wheel tracks. The scent of leather and metal. Potions. Definitely the Caravan.

Lambert picked up the pace, hurrying to catch up. The Cats were used to him joining their travels, thanks to Aiden dragging his ass along on occasion.

It was almost as comforting as Kaer Morhen, for all the source of his nightmares could be.

"Well look what the Cat dragged in!" A familiar voice shouted as the Caravan finally came into view.

Lambert didn't stop the grin from forming as he slammed into his best friend and hugging them, "Fucking hell am I glad to see you!"

Aiden chuckled, squeezing back, "Didn't you say you were gonna have a horse this time 'round? Whatcha do, sell it for coin?"

"Fuck no-"

"He prolly ate it. " Another Cat chortled, "Desperate times."

"Bah, gave it up. I hear these Wolves are noble sorts." A third Cat laughed.

Lambert rolled his eyes, "I didn't eat it. A fucking wyvern did. I gutted the fucker for it too. Didn't get shit for pay for it either."  
Aiden grimaced in sympathy before pulling Lambert into their camp, "Get a bath and eat, Puppy! We just settled down for the next couple days. Got a good water source."

Lambert smiled, following them, "Thanks, Aiden. I owe you assholes a lot. I'd have been skimping on everything if I hadn't noticed you all were nearby."

"Well... you're welcome to travel with us for a spell." Aiden hummed, gesturing to a tent, "You know that. You're as much a Cat as you can be."

Lambert nodded, going into the tent to sit for a moment, "Holy fuck, I shouldn't have gotten used to a damn horse. The calluses on my feet have smoothed out. Look at this shit! I got fucking blisters!" He pulled off his boot to look at his feet better, then brandished the limb at the Cat.

Aiden rolled their eyes and pulled out a small jar, "Want me to put something on it? Help with the ache a little? This ointment I learned to make is fucking amazing."

Lambert squinted at them, ".... who'd you learn it from? Not some backwoods wise woman?"

"Fuck off, learned it from a proper herbalist." Aiden huffed, "Trust me, right?"

"Clearly, since I chose this route to make sure I caught up with you." Lambert pulled off his other boot, shoving both feet into Aiden's lap.

Aiden chuckled, "Good. I might have made sure we stayed on this route just for you, puppy."


	8. Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vesemir finds a way to protect his sons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little bit sad my friends, but also happy too? Not beta read as I scrambled to finish it before the deadline for the challenge. I hope you like it!  
> -Sleepy

After the pogroms and the fall of the School of the Wolf, Vesemir only has three sons left.

He can call them his sons now, there are no other trainers to judge him for the weakness of his sentiment. 

He only has three sons left, and he cannot lose a single one of them before his own time comes. He cannot suffer another loss. 

He finds a way to protect them, even if it goes against so much of what he has learned and taught. 

There is a mage who lives deep in the Aedirnian woods who is rumored to be able to prevent death, both natural and unnatural alike. He seeks her out, saddles laden with the coin purses of his fallen brothers and sons with the hope that he can buy them insurance against the many dangers of the path. The weathered hut he finds is so far from the grand castle in the woods he had been imagining that he almost dismisses it out of hand, but the medallion around his neck vibrates like it has never before and he knows that this is the right place. 

The door opens before he can raise a fist to knock and he takes a deep breath, centering himself the way he was trained to and has trained others to, and enters. 

The mage has been waiting for him, there is a second cup of tea set out next to the one she is sipping from and the chair across from hers slides out as he approaches. Each time he looks at her face she appears different, an old woman hunched beneath the weight of her years one moment, a young lady glowing with youthful energy the next. She is unlike any mage he has encountered before and the differences set him on edge. 

They sit in silence for a moment before the mage asks him why he has sought her out. He tells her, throat tight and eyes stinging, of his brothers and sons who did not survive. He tells her, tears streaming down his face but fists clenched with protective anger, of his remaining sons. She listens quietly, her expression does not change as he speaks but something in her eyes seems to mirror the pain in his own heart. 

She promises to help him. 

His offer of coins is refused, are his offers of service. The mage claims that all she wants in return for safeguarding his sons is for him to cherish them, to let them know how much they are loved. 

He promises that he will. 

There’s a hum of magic in the air and his medallion vibrates so hard it nearly snaps the chain around his neck. A flash of white blinds him, and when he can see again he is back in Kaer Morhen, horse and coin all intact. 

He begins to think that perhaps the mage was more than she let on. He hopes that she has kept her promise. 

  
  


When he greets his sons that winter, it is not with the customary clasping of arms as he used to, but with open arms and fierce hugs, heart near overflowing with relief and love each time he looks out onto the trail and can see another one coming home. 

It’s during an evening of drinking and telling tales from the year on the Path that Vesemir is able to let go of the last knot of dread in his chest. Each of his sons has a wild tale about nearly meeting their doom, only for something miraculous, something  _ magical _ , to have happened and prevented a painful death. The mage, or whatever she was, has kept her promise.

That night Vesemir hugs his sons close as they retire, pressing his forehead to theirs and basking in the knowledge that he will not lose them, that he is finally free to love them as they deserve. 


	9. 39- blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witchers are being sus, Jaskier is intrigued.

Jaskier wasn't quite sure what the Witchers were up to... they'd been strangely secretive during the last few days. There was always one of them with him, keeping him away from the forge and stables. 

He had his suspicions, of course. His Witchers weren't as sneaky as they thought they were. He knew they were making something for him. Likely a weapon of some sort. 

Geralt tended to be the one responsible for keeping Jaskier away from the stables, often scooping the bard up when he tried to go outside to help tend to the horses and goat. 

Eskel and Lambert were always together in the forge and if one of them caught sight of Jaskier nearby they would come and bring him inside.

After a few attempts of trying to find out what they were up to, the trio coaxed Vesemir into helping them. The old witcher kept Jaskier busy, making him help in the kitchens and cleaning the keep. 

Jaskier's curiosity grew every day, particularly because the Witchers would behave as though they weren't being sneaky and secretive. They would take him upstairs and tire him out each night and then disappear at dawn to work on their mysterious project.

Jaskier had given up on finding out what they were up to, when the Solstice came around. Vesemir let him sleep in that day before fetching him around noontime to help make supper, "Vesemir…? Where are Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert?"

"They went out to hunt. We'll be having a feast tonight, for the Solstice." The old Witcher replied, focused on chopping vegetables, "They'll be back soon."

The bard nodded, focusing on his own vegetables, "Right… right."

Sure enough, the three younger Witchers returned with a game animal slung over their shoulders. Lambert looked particularly smug as he dropped a buck to the floor, "So, you almost done?"  
Vesemir rolled his eyes and motioned for them to leave, "Get out. We'll call for you when the meat is prepared."

Jaskier smiled as the three dropped their prizes and left together, each of them looking back to smile at him.

The feast wasn't the most elaborate thing he'd partaken in, by a long shot. It was, however, the most fun. Jaskier laughed as he drank some mead, watching Lambert and Geralt arm wrestle, apparently they had something they wanted to do and felt it prudent to fight over who would do it.

As the night wound down, Geralt disappeared briefly, and with Lambert and Eskel on either side of Jaskier's seat, returned carrying a cloth covered box.

The trio looked anxious as Jaskier accepted the box and opened it. Within rested a well made, deadly sharp dagger with a lark engraved in the blade.

The bard looked up at them, eyes wide as Geralt smiled, "I know you're no good with swords… so...I figured we'd make a dagger for you to use… we'll train you during the remainder of winter."

Jaskier sniffed and set the box down, hugging the trio, beaming, "oh I love you, you ridiculous creatures!"


End file.
